


excuses

by Lysaanderr



Category: TwoSet, Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysaanderr/pseuds/Lysaanderr
Summary: Brett thinks it's awkward but he also doesn't want to quite say it - that it'd be weird to do dating skits with just two guys, with just the two of them. Well, not weird, more like awkward. Still.So he avoids doing them, makes excuses, shows Eddy other conservatory-related skit ideas he has.Eddy has a solution.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	excuses

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: With the debut of a new wig (possibly for Edwina?) in a recent TikTok, I wanted to dedicate a little something to the Original Edwina Wig.

The practice room door creaked open. Brett looked up and raised an eyebrow at the silhouette looming in the shadow of the doorway.

Eddy stepped in and shut the door behind him. His entrance brought in a slight rush of air, and the shuttered blinds rattled. Brett almost laughed out loud; the wig was crooked, the netting crinkled on one side and bunched against Eddy’s ear. 

Eddy marched straight up to where Brett was sitting. Brett followed the lines of light from the window that fell across Eddy's face, raked his gaze over this new, novel thing on this oh-so-familiar figure: dark hair that poked out from beneath the scrunched wig and obscured Eddy’s eyes. Blond hair that framed the taller violinist’s face and highlighted cheekbones against chapped lips. Glimmering tears that trailed down cheeks, shaded yellow by the sunflower color of the wig's cheap acrylic fibers. 

Brett lowered his bubble tea, the dampness of his palms having nothing to do with the condensation beading across the flimsy plastic. He set it down on one thigh, felt the cold seep in through the denim of his jeans. 

He remembered when they were recording some parody of a K-Pop music video - which one was that? - and Eddy trailed his hand up Brett's leg. Brett had grimaced and moved away.

When - it was a guest appearance on another Youtuber's channel about, what, K-Pop again? - Eddy leaned into him, the warmth of his body feeling strangely too-hot against Brett's arm. He had moved away then, too.

And now Eddy stood in front of him, sniffling, cheeks flushed, glaring as fiercely as he could at some point past Brett’s ear.

Was this enough? To play pretend and snigger it off as a joke? To pretend not to notice each other's stares in their peripheral vision, both on camera and off-screen, to hold their breath, to see who would give in first? A parody of themselves - to laugh at their own insecurities, to pretend and pretend and pretend. 

Brett reached out and trailed one hand lightly, so lightly, through the strands of blond hair. His fingertips hummed with the distance between their skin. The plastic cup of his bubble tea crinkled in his other hand as his fingers flexed, clenched. He hesitated.

Their eyes met.

Eddy turned his cheek into Brett’s hand, reached out, too, and seized his wrist, not lightly and without hesitation, pulled him forward, and Brett had no more excuses left to give.


End file.
